


When A Good Man Goes to War

by TheRealDanniX



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff, Gen, Jaskier | Dandelion Being a Feral Bastard, Little bit of Immortal!Jaskier, M/M, Mention of blood, Mentioned Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Mentioned Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sort of AU, it's implied - Freeform, little bit of violence, not much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:22:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23020909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealDanniX/pseuds/TheRealDanniX
Summary: The anger of a good man is terrifying. We all know Jaskier is a feral disaster, but we also know he is soft af. So what the Witcher has never seen him fully feral, and still hasn't. (Title taken from Doctor Who)Exert: “Dear Witcher, I have just recalled that I need to collect something from a friend at the Academy. If you would be so kind as to wait outside of town, I’ll be along shortly. If you keep going, I’m sure I’ll see you again soon, love. I wouldn’t want to delay you.” Jaskier then stalked off towards the people that Geralt had heard following them. The Witcher was too stunned to stop him or respond. He turned to watch as his bard approached a group of men that all looked to be in their earlier twenties, smelling of thinly veiled fury. Geralt didn’t move until, quick as a flash, Jaskier had the biggest of the group pinned on the ground with a blade to his throat.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 15
Kudos: 871





	When A Good Man Goes to War

**Author's Note:**

> I had to get this out of my head, so I wrote it down. I've only watched the show and gleaned some from the Wiki and other fics, so sorry if I'm screwing things up. 
> 
> I have no idea if it's any good, but I wrote it so I might as well post it. 
> 
> Drop a Kudos or Comment if you liked it

Jaskier is nice. He is happy and bubbly and all smiles. It takes a lot to make him snap. Really snap. Not just quips or snipes, as he did with Yennefer, but really truly snap. He will spill verse after verse of beautiful prose if mildly inconvenienced. Even when he was injured or tied up or scared out of his wits by whatever Geralt was facing, Jaskier does not truly snap. He complains and waxes poetic, as he did with the elves. Even after the mountain, after Geralt spilled horrible vile that he knew to be untrue, the Bard does not snap. He barely yells when the Witcher finds him, days later apologizing as he had never done before. Jaskier is nice. He does not really truly snap.

As far as Geralt can figure, the only times when Jaskier shows himself to be anywhere close to snapping is when talking about one Valdo Marx or when someone insults his Witcher. Still, it takes only a few minutes for the Bard to move on, flitting about as though he has not a care in the world.

Geralt knows, logically, that Jaskier can defend himself. He knows that the Bard had to have been angered at some point in his life. That Jaskier had to have handled a weapon in rage. Every human that the Witcher had met had shown rage at some point. Yet, he had never seen it and he could hardly conceive the thought that Jaskier could hold anger or irritation for anything.

So, it is understandably confusing for Geralt, the first time that he accompanies Jaskier to Oxenfurt and people eye the Bard with fear, not the Witcher. In fact, they treat Geralt as though he is the former resident, not Jaskier. If Jaskier thinks this is odd, he says nothing about it, babbling on about his early day at the Oxenfurt Academy. As the day goes on, it becomes increasingly clear that, though the whole town respected and new the Bard, many of them tiptoed around him as though he was likely to lash out.

After the festival begins to ebb, the Witcher starts to notice other things that are odd about this town and his bard. How no one seems to be flirting with Jaskier, and how the bard seemed to not care. (Not that Geralt found that particularly frustrating. Not now that he knew the Bard was his.) How the crowd showered him with compliments and coin but kept their distance. How the other bards at the festival steered clear after their performances. How Jaskier stayed out of the celebrations, standing with Geralt instead. By the time they had acquired a room for the evening, the Witcher had decided he had had enough.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said as the younger man removed his doublet, which has miraculously managed to stay fully buttoned all evening. (Was he a man? He didn’t seem to age, but that’s is not the issue of the moment.)

“Dear Witcher, it is late, and I am tired. Normally, I would be thrilled that you felt like talking, but I am not in the mood. If you are still interested in conversation in the morning, I shall be more than willing to oblige,” Jaskier sighed. He stripped off his chemise and trousers and collapsed into one of the two single beds of the room wearing only his smalls. That was another odd thing. The bard had asked specifically for two-bed, something they had stopped doing months ago.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said again. He knew that if he didn’t ask now, he would not be able to ask in the morning. Jaskier peaked his cornflower blue eyes open, looking up at Geralt. Seeing that his Witcher would likely not let this go, the bard sighed again.

“All right, Geralt. Fine. Ask your questions. You have been harboring that face of frustrated confusion since we arrived.” Jaskier propped himself up on his elbows, tilting his head vaguely to the other bed.

Geralt obliged, taking a seat, still fully clothed. The bard waited patiently for Geralt to find his words. “They treat you differently here,” the Witcher said slowly. “As though they are scared of you.”

Jaskier laid his head back with a light chuckle escaping him. “Well, yes I suppose they do. I don’t mind. I earned that reputation fair and square the last time I was here, and it will likely take several more visits for them to calm down.” His voice was as light as ever.

Geralt frowned. “How?”

Jaskier’s head turned back towards the other man. “It was a simple altercation. Nothing you need worry about, my dear wolf.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt warned.

“If you must know, I was provoked. A small group of far too brave, far too young gentlemen with very outdated ideas concerning Witchers decided to heckle a lecture of mine. Afterward, they attempted to corner me and continued to spew horribly incorrect information that painted Witchers as monsters, going after you in particular.” Jaskier sat up and met Geralt’s stare. “I may be able to put up with a great deal, but everyone has their breaking point. For me, being cornered by bigots after a very tiring show was it. None of them sustained any permanent damage and no one was jailed afterward. It was nothing.” Jaskier waved his hands dismissively. Then he smiled at Geralt. “Now, please. May we continue this at some other point? As I said earlier, I’m tired, and we are to set out again in the morning so that you may find a contract.” Jaskier laid back down and closed his eyes.

Geralt was still not satisfied with this explanation, but he knew that it was best to let it go. Jaskier wouldn’t be talking anymore that night. This was confirmed, moments later as quiet snores began filling the room.

As he had expected, Geralt had lost his nerve by morning. Jaskier was still Jaskier. Happy, personable, smiling, talking non-stop. As they collected Roach and started out of town, the people of Oxenfurt seemed to relax with Jaskier, if only slightly. They were almost out of town when Geralt heard the people following them. This, at least, was sort of familiar. Many towns liked to make sure their unwanted guests got out as quickly as possible.

“Geralt, dear, please relax. Oxenfurt is not the kind of town to chase anyone out of it,” Jaskier said, drawing his Witcher’s attention. Despite this, the bard still looked behind them, and he froze. His whole demeanor changed. He was tense and his blue eyes darkened. “Most of them wouldn’t,” he hissed. Even with Geralt’s heightened hearing, he barely heard it. Jaskier took a deep breath and forced a smile back onto his face. “Dear Witcher, I have just recalled that I need to collect something from a friend at the Academy. If you would be so kind as to wait outside of town, I’ll be along shortly. If you keep going, I’m sure I’ll see you again soon, love. I wouldn’t want to delay you.” Jaskier then stalked off towards the people that Geralt had heard following them. The Witcher was too stunned to stop him or respond. He turned to watch as his bard approached a group of men that all looked to be in their earlier twenties, smelling of thinly veiled fury. Geralt didn’t move until, quick as a flash, Jaskier had the biggest of the group pinned on the ground with a blade to his throat.

“Jaskier,” Geralt muttered, dragged Roach after him as he went towards his bard. As he approached, he noticed that no one outside of the small group of men had even paid any attention to the man pinned to the ground. He could hear Jaskier talking.

“Now, darlings, last time, I was nice enough to leave you all in one piece.” Jaskier’s voice held an edge that Geralt had never heard from the bard. It reminded him of Yennefer. “Even after you ruined my favorite doublet and insulted both myself and my dear Witcher. I was willing to let it go. After all, we all make mistakes when we’re young.” Jaskier pressed the dagger down on the man’s throat as he gulped, beads of red formed on the skin. Jaskier’s blue eyes burned cold. “If you dare to follow us, I promise you, it is not the Witcher that you will have to fear.” Then, just as fast as he had pinned the man, Jaskier was up and turning away from the group, right toward Geralt. He froze again, becoming the nervous bard that Geralt was so familiar with, holding his hands in front of him, the dagger somehow already gone from his hand, and opening his mouth to speak.

Geralt held up a hand to stop him. “Jaskier, what was that?” Geralt kept his voice quiet. He didn’t want the bard to think that he was angry, because he wasn’t. Confused? Concerned? Yes, but not angry.

“Uh, well, that,” Jaskier mumbled. He looked back at the fearful group of young men scrambling away from the pair. “That was, well, a warning.” Jaskier shrugged. “I told you that you could keep going. I am perfectly capable of taking care of this on my own, as you can see.” Jaskier tried to start walking again, but Geralt grabbed his arm.

“Jaskier,” Geralt started, but his words abandoned him.

“I promise, I don’t go around randomly threatening people. It’s just that lot. Well, they were the ones from last time. I truly didn’t…” Whatever the bard had been intending to say faded out as he met Geralt’s eyes.

“I’ve never seen you like that,” Geralt managed. His eyes flicked to the now-empty street where the men had been. “I’ve never seen you that angry.”

“As I said last night, everyone has their breaking point, Geralt.” Jaskier looked down, pulling away from his Witcher. Geralt didn’t stop him. He was still processing what he had witnessed. There was a quiet moment before he realized why the bard was pulling away from him, the sour smell twisting around, mingling with the sweet perfumes. Jaskier was embarrassed. But why? He had shown prowess when faced by a threat. He had only been doing what Geralt did every time a monster decided the bard was easier prey than the Witcher. What Yennefer did whenever someone threatened her power or her friends. What Ciri did when confronted.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, as gently as he could. He took his bard’s arm and pulled him close. “Thank you.” Jaskier tensed as Geralt wrapped around him.

“What are you thanking me for?”

“Being you, little lark.” Geralt released him. “Now come on. There are no contracts here and the next town is a fair distance from her.” The Witcher took Roach’s reigns and guided her out of Oxenfurt, with their bard in tow.

Though the Witcher never truly stopped worrying about his bard, he found it strangely comforting that the little lark had talons when he deemed it necessary.

Jaskier doesn’t snap often, but when he does, he a force to be reckoned with.


End file.
